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I remember the day I first saw her. I remember that day well. The heat from the sun, the mixed aromas of coffee and car exhausts as we sat in an outdoor cafe. I was alone, of course, but she wasn't. A punk ass was with her. Some chatty hollywood wannabe wearing a fifty dollar tee shirt and fancy sneakers. I had no interest in him. Weaklings neither excite or challenge my... darker sensibilities.

My intuition told me that she secretly held the same disdain for him. Maybe it was the way she blew cigarette smoke in his direction when he wasn't looking. Maybe it was just the lack of interest in her grey eyes as he rambled on. I had been so utterly captivated by her eyes that when I finally took a sip of my expresso I realized that it had gone cold. For that crime she would have to pay dearly. And those eyes, those misty eyes of hers, they would weep a thousand tears.